My need for privacy overwhelms any urge toward disclosure, in matters both large and small. I do and feel and think all sorts of things that I would never write about, nor even discuss in person. In fact, I can state with some degree of accuracy that nobody reading these words actually knows that much about me, regardless of how long they have been in my acquaintance – or how intimately involved in my escapades.
Most people who hang out with me find this infuriating. Unless they have told me a secret, in which case they are cautiously optimistic that I will not expose them.
I do tell the truth – and occasionally I shock people with information that I would categorize as obvious or trivial – but for the most part I am simply not interested in providing a detailed summary of my existence. And yes, I am aware that this stance appears contradictory given the fact that I have written a memoir (not to mention the existence of this journal).
If I could conceal more I would; for instance, in most of my published writing I have attempted to obfuscate details like the name of the town where I went to college. Mostly because that particular place has a specific meaning for many people, and using the word would distract from the point I was trying to make in a couple of essays. There are numerous examples like this.
Then there is also my (sometimes reckless) refusal to be affiliated with any organized group or institution, and a persistent belief that my actions do not define my identity.
Often this tendency is useful in pragmatic ways; it certainly contributes to my ability to skip through wildly disparate social situations. Other times my desire to keep secrets seems to be a pathological anomaly that should be discarded posthaste.
Doing so would at least improve my conversational range. I’ve been away to London for a few days to celebrate something I’m not prepared to talk about, and I’m off to New York soon to meet Gabriel and work on a top secret project. What is left to write about except a report on the (currently vile) weather?
The fact that I’ve developed an allergy to my favorite sunblock isn’t a scintillating topic.